In the Light Of The Dawn
by Dr.GOD
Summary: Awkward, too thin, too short, too quiet and too smart. Pagan had just about had enough of being out of place in the small, plain English commuter-village of Sudbrooke - Until a strange old traveller woman comes to the village, offering to send sixteen year old Pagan off to the kind of adventures she dreams about all day long. Will she swap her family and home for a fate unknown?
1. The Spiriting

"_If I find, in myself, desires,_

_Nothing in this world can satisfy,_

_I can only assume, that I,_

_I was not made for here."_

They told me; "She can send you to where you are meant to be!" with howling laughter, laughter I join them in every time. But at merely sixteen, I have outgrown the parties and teenage customs my peers partake in so willingly.

I often wondered to myself if I was the only one, the only one who longed for the life I see on the screen, the life I weave from books, the worlds I create from songs and live in through my own mind.

I tried, vainly, to resurrect my visions of these worlds; but not another soul can understand my love and longing, my need for realism, hatred of fairytale endings, and desire for there to be dirt, rats, scratchy clothing and wild warriors swinging swords around, defending ladies and killing the heathens. Or the Trojans. Or the Woads, and Saxons. Or even the Huns, for goodness sake!

I long for adventure, and the feel of dirty, lousy, scratchy clothing, saddle sores and caked mud.

And then They told me; "She can send you to where you are meant to be!" with howling laughter. Laughter that I joined them in.

Regardless of my friends, and loving if pushy family, I understood. If she can take me to the adventure, then I need never return. And it did not cost much, only a months wages from my job in the post office. One hundred pounds, Sterling.

And so I prepared. I collected knowledge on survival. I did not sleep, I ate large portions, just to be sure. I bought new boots, from the army surplus store in town, and a brown jacket - entirely unidentifiable, but warm and waterproof, all the same.

I bought books on horses, and read everything about them, how to ride them and how to care for them, until I couldn't see straight.

I pulled out my wooden sword replicas and practiced until my palms bled. I bandaged my hands and remembered every word of Latin I'd ever heard. I knew about three or four. All western languages are based on Latin, I reminded myself. Unless I end up in the world of JRR Tolkien, I could use my meagre skills.

I prayed I was right, that I was not made for this life.

I waited for that week to be over, and for the day to arrive.

Saturday, may 9th.

I couldn't sleep the night before, and so didn't bother waiting, I scrambled around the house making mental images of everyone sleeping and pulling photo's from their frames, picking up trinkets and tools. A necklace of my mothers, a photo of the family, a shell from the beach on the isle of Mull, matches, bandages and a sharp knife.

All of these things, I placed carefully in the many inner pockets of the jacket, and slipped the knife into my right outer and matches in my left outer pockets.

I looked out my warmest jeans, and my ski socks(not my usual option)along with an oversized thermal vest, black shirt, and fingerless gloves.

It's easier to get warm than stay warm, or so say the SAS.

I ran to the door, leaving my mobile and headphones behind, grudgingly, and wrote a note for my parents, which I hid artfully. I pulled out my keys, donned my boots and jacket, and made off into the morning, pushing the keys back through the mailbox.

As I rounded the corner onto the main road, I preyed to got no-one had destroyed the atm machine, which, thankfully, the big guy must have heard.

I drew out the money I needed, leaving the rest to good faith, and continued on to the edge of town, where the houses stopped and the misty fields started. There, across the burn and down a ditch, smoke rose from a tiny horse-drawn van.

The vehicle was painted red and yellow, with blue and green trim, and outside of it, grazing on the banks of the tiny burn was tethered a large black horse, with a stunning black face, and glistening coat. I raised it's head to look as I passed, and I saw it's complacency and kind nature. As it's head dropped, I watched with awe the muscles that rippled along it's neck and shoulders, and saw it had one feathery white foot, which seemed out of place.

"Looking for something, are we?"

The voice, beautiful and yet tinged with a little bitter sap, summed to come from the great horse, until a small, frail, dark skinned woman stepped out from behind it's rump, with a dandy brush in hand.

"Oh, now I see. I know what you are!" The tiny woman pointed one thin finger at me, her eyes bright and her voice full of humour, "In your eyes, I see the places you want to be!"

Her face seemed lit up with vibrancy, as though all her Christmases had come at once.

"Yes, they," I hesitated, "People, told me…what you can do, for people like me…and for…" I put a hand in the matches pocket, and pulled out the money.

"Yes, yes, come inside." She waived me to the back of the caravan, still grinning.

I, despite my sudden fear, followed her, holding my breath. The small woman opened the doors and steps fell down, painted blue. The inners of the van were as the rest, vivid and nauseating, and yet rather enthralling. We sat on pillows on the floor, and she made me breakfast tea.

"Tell me, child, where would you like to go, most of all?" She grinned again, over her tea, and took a puff of a pipe she hadn't even appeared to light.

"To the time of Arthur, Merlin, and the knights of the round table, I suppose. Like in the movies." I smiled back, sheepishly, knowing that it didn't matter. In the back of my mind, a small but firm ball of scepticism, like a ball of snow in Antarctica, had formed.

"If you can think of the movie you mean, I can send you there…for a price. You know this." She was now like a doctor going over the same information again and again with a patient, drawling yet pleasant.

"I know that. Here," I handed her the money, eagerly.

She took the money, and placed it on the side board.

"Concentrate on where you would like to be, most of all." She instructed, while brewing a new pot of tea.

I closed my eyes and in my mind saw knights, and Romans, Saxon soldiers, and Pict warriors, I saw Arthur, Lancelot, Galahad, and many others, all the people from the tales and movies and songs, flashing before me. Speaking, singing, talking.

"Drink this broth, and be gone to this place." The little woman's voice commanded, pushing another cup into my hands, and guiding it to my mouth.

I winced as the bitter liquid hit my tongue, awash with flavours of earth, smoke, salt and sea, sweet perfume and confection and sandy dryness at once. And then, I felt a freezing wind buffeting me, blowing my brown hair into my eyes, and soggy dirt materialised beneath my crossed legs.

"Am I dead?" I wondered aloud, no longer feeling the cup in my hand, or the liquid in my mouth.

Still, I did not dare open my eyes, for fear I was dreaming and about to wake.


	2. Indigo Faces

Thank you European_Girl - and don't worry about that, I have t3h plan! Oh, my favourite is Tristan too! I love the way he talks to his hawk.

This chapter is dedicated to my best friend(Hana-lee) who sat up last night until at least one, listening to me talking through this story's plotline. She's a star.

I couldn't tell you how long I sat cross legged on the muddy earth, slowly sponging up the muddy moisture, eyes shut, but by the time I was brave enough to open them, the sun was setting, casting a hazy purple glow on my surroundings.

I was in the middle of an unbroken vista of green grass, punctuated only by two or three trees, and a cow grazing with her young calf. In the distance, smoke rose from thatched roofs, and children squealed playfully.

Instinct told me that if I walked in the general direction of the noise and smoke, I would encounter someone who could tell me the date, or more precisely, the era.

And my proximity to anything dangerous.

Unfortunately for me, the village was further away than I had first thought, and by the time I reached it's boundaries, the sun had finished it's setting and was gone for the night. The sky had settled into a dull black smokiness, broken by tiny patches of stars. The voices of the children had all but faded away into nothing, the smoke pillars hung in the air still, wavering.

Glancing across my shoulder, I saw in the far distance the lowing cow and calf, ivory against the night's blackness. I sighed, the air was heavy.

As I approached the small thatched houses, I saw the way these people lived. Their houses were wattle and daub, with thatch-like roofs, and formed in a circle around a muddy clearing. The ground was raised up, and a few ponies and a pig were tethered around the different houses. Many of the houses were dipped in blackness, but a few still had the light of fire or embers. No one moved around here, this late.

I realised quickly that I could not ask to stay with a family in their house, the way I looked, and at this hour.

I turned around, ready to search for mother natures shelters, when a tugging on my jacket stopped me. My hand flew to the knife in my pocket. I whirred around on the spot, searching with squinting eyes.

"'scuse me…uh're you uh woad?" The voice of a little girl reached me, and I stopped moving. Looking down, I saw her, no taller than my elbow. She had dark hair and darker eyes, with freckles and a gaping rosy mouth.

"No." I had hoped she'd let me go.

"uh're you a sack's son?" I chuckled a little at her, she spoke just like my cousins used to, when they were toddlers.

"No." I was beginning to give up hope of getting away, anytime soon.

"Whit ur you?" Her little dark eyes were wide on my own, and she refused to let go of my jacket. I was tempted to tell her I was the boogie man, or a ghost.

"I'm a traveller. From across the many seas, and I've come to see your country." this seemed to please her, as she let me go, and smiled widely at me with little white milk teeth.

"You cin sleep in ur tree, if you want ti." I supposed this was her way of being kind, without bringing me to her mothers attention.

Smart little girls didn't take the strange looking visitors to their mothers and fathers, not if they wanted to befriend them. I supposed she meant the high boughed oak nearby, and so I tackled it's branches, and settled myself, legs and arms hanging, facing out, on a large round branch near the base, and hoped there were no poisonous things in the tree.

It was not the light of morning the woke me, but the screaming of women and children. I opened my eyes in horror to the flames that burned at the village, and the carnage that tore through the people.

Wild men with axes and indigo faces charged at the people, huddled around the ashes of their homes. The roar of these men deafened me, while the village men took up their tools in defence. The animals had been cut loose, and the children clung to their parents.

In the haunting light, the painted men seemed to dance and jig about their frightened prey, the shrinking villagers.

In fear, I pressed myself against the great wide trunk of the tree, praying I could become part of it. As I hoped, an arrow, of yellow wood and flint, embedded itself an inch from my face.

"They know I'm here…"I almost fainted with realisation.

As soon as I found my feet once more, I heaved myself from the branch and dropped, rather artlessly, to the earth. I fell to my knees, shaking, and thought I was screaming, but below me, under my very boot, was the twisted hand of a man. I recoiled in horror.

"Help us!" He cried for me. His body was bloody, and his face twisted in pain. "The wall…" his voice crumbled into a husk, and his uncrushed hand pointed east, his bay mare's reins still clasped tightly between bloodied fingers.

The villagers screams seemed to die out as I realised what he needed.

I would have to take his horse, and ride to this wall, to get help.

The mare was not saddled. I scrambled onto her hot back, grasping at mane and reins, desperate to stay mounted. My boots dug into her fat, fleshy sides, and she shot off, almost leaving me behind her. I felt my body flying with hers, as I scrambled to remember what I had read, head up, back straight, weight in my bum and legs. All of that was no use, as long as I flew and flittered about, like paper in the wind.

My hands would not stay still, I could not gather the reins, instead, I let her run east, pressing her on with my heels whenever I had the chance.

Each time my boots collided with her heaving chest, I flew above her back, wincing as I fell upon her protruding backbone over and over. She heaved, white spittle covering her breast and legs, flying onto me as we ran, raging forward, until the great wall was in sight. I did not stop. We ran along it's length, as fast as the mare would take me, hooves pounding the mud, churning the earth.

A gate came into view, barbed and black, like the gates of hell.

"Help! Help Me!" I screamed, my voice cracking in fear. Was I too late? The guards called for me name, for me to identify myself. I could not.

"The village! The little girl! The Village! Help me! They are dying!" I repeated this over and over until the doors opened, and horses came charging out, gray, black and brown, ridden by armoured men. They passed me, as I screamed for the little girl, and her faceless family.

And as I screamed, the mare took off again, whirling in circles, until everything was blackness, despite the beginning of the new dawn.


	3. Modesty

I just checked and had an "omg 137 people looked at this story!" moment. Thanks guys. If you feel like it, stop by and review, I'd appreciate the extra crit and opinions. Thanks.

Also - Silverbladesgal thanks for the fav!(sorry I took so long to say!)

p.s - I'm back to school now, so updates will be less frequent, because of MASSIVE PILES of pre-exam prep homework. This year is THE year, really. So yeah, enjoy.

Pain ripped through me like a blunt axe, tearing at every iota of my being. It seemed to radiate from my body into my limbs, and then back again with equal force, and I could not tell where hurt most.

"Mercy…please, stop this…"I whimpered, and felt tears begin to well from my still-closed eyes. I had prayed for adventure for years, wanted this for so long, and yet now, I wished I could be watching myself on the screen, like a faraway dream of a dream.

A voice came from the distance, past the silencing mask of underwater sound; "She's awake!"

From all I could tell, it was the voice of a girl, and a young one, younger than I was.

I felt hands on me, warm hands on my burning, icy flesh.

"Girl. Are you awake?" The voice of a woman, now. I assumed it was her hands on me, because she moved them to my face and tried to pry open my tight, gluey eyes, whilst I was still crying and burning.

She managed to open, quite forcefully, my right eye, but I closed it again, not believing what I thought I saw.

Before me was a room full of children, like little cherubs, hovering nervously around the strange traveller, like the little girl from the village. I sat up with a start.

Or, rather, I tried to sit, but could not move properly, and, unsupported on the straw mattress, fell back again and almost smashed me head.

"Careful, now, girlie." The woman pleaded. I'd peeled both of my eyes open now, and through the sticky dew that clung to my lashes, I saw her and her children properly in the firelight. She was a pretty woman, with auburn hair and glowing pink cheeks, a high brow and full rosy lips, a fine, small nose and bright, light coloured eyes.

Her eyes were on all but three of the children, one of the girls and two boys, smiling and happy. The girl without the woman's eyes had dark eyes and dark hair, and a bright smile. She was older, but resembled the little girl from the village.

"Please…Please…The village…The little girl…"I hoped against hope that she spoke my language.

By the looks on the faces of the strange congregation, they understood me all too well. The woman shook her head, but did not speak.

In place of her silence, the watery nothingness rushed to my ears again, as I once more fainted.

At least a full week passed while I slipped in and out of consciousness, sometimes awake for most of the day, riveted by pain and anguish, other times I would sleep just to escape reality. By around mid-week, I had a fever, and could not bring myself to eat the dry flatbread and honey brought to me. I found out, by listening to the children while I lay uncomfortably on the straw-tick bed, that the woman with the auburn hair was in fact Vanora, who, in my time, was supposed to be the lover of the knight Bors, and mother to his eleven children.

When the fever had broken I was still barely aware of my surroundings, the children who visited, but did not seem to linger, or the women who would come and leave food and dab at my face with wet cloths, with me powerless to refuse.

On what I thought must have been the tenth day, I awoke at dawn for the first time. The room was silent and empty, and the food from last night lay discarded at my bedside.

I twitched, and found I could move properly now, so sat and stretched my arms and back, rubbing the ever-present slime from my eyes and face, scanning the room.

It was a very small, tawny coloured room, with bumpy daub walls, and a flat ceiling. About the size of a cosy box-room, maybe three rough square feet in size. I was in the far left corner, and there was a crude fireplace on the other side of the room, a little to the right. Another bed lay in the right corner, ninety degrees from me, looking slept-in and sludgy.

I was alone, for mow.

I sat for a while, not trusting my legs, if I stood, surely then, they would flare with pain and give way under me. I could not bare another week of pain and agony, wile I might be being poisoned or eaten alive by insects.

Deciding to give in to my stomach, which was growling loudly, I looked to the small plate of food nearby. What I found there looked to be a kind of flatbread of oats, like oat biscuits, draped in honey. The 'bread' crumbled wetly as I lifted it, and fell sloppily in pieces over my hand and onto my uncovered legs.

I noticed long ago that I was not wearing my own clothing, but had not thought where my clothes would be. My knife and matches, essential to me here, were gone.

I ate slowly what I could get to my mouth of the sodden food, before trying to wipe off the mucky black honey on the mattress covering. As I failed to remove the sticky substance from my face and legs, I noticed a small patch of black, obscured by the firelight, in the corner at the foot of my 'bed'.

My boots.

At least something of my clothing had survived.

I moved without standing to collect my boots, and slid them onto my unfeeling feet, tying the laces tightly around my ankles. Then, tenuously, and gripping at the coarse walls, I pulled myself to my feet.

When I found I could stand, I stumbled my way to the door, and fumbled the lock, leaning against the wall for support.

When I finally raised the pin from it's catch, the door swung in on it's hinges, creaking and as sore as I was.

Light poured in from outside, from the day beyond.

It was misty, like it had been by the burn the day I came here, and I sniffed, thinking of the burn and my quiet suburban town back home in modern England. As my eyes adjusted, painfully, I noticed more about outside. Including the cold. But more than that, too. I was not truly outside, I was in a covered courtyard, which had tables, chairs and various other furnishings placed around haphazardly. To one side there was what seemed to be a bar of sorts, made of knobbly wood, and wet with ale. A woman with black hair wandered around, followed by some children, but no-one else was around.

I stepped gingerly forward, letting go of the walls momentarily, and then jumping back towards them as I heard a shouting yell.

"Girl!" The voice was familiar, but I did not remember it until I saw the face attached to it was that of Vanora, "Have modesty! Cover yourself!" She yelped, rushing forward and unwrapping her apron from around her waist, and swaddling my sticky legs in it. I felt awkward and unclean.

"Uh…my…Breeches." I decided being native might help a little, "Where are they?" I murmured, worrying suddenly she would think I was stupid, for not being able to from proper sentences without great effort, as my mind was still fuzzy from sleeping so long.

"Washroom, I'm stewing the grass out of them, silly girl. Your mare's in the paddocks somewhere, too." She smiled fawningly at me, seemingly pleased that I was up and about. My legs and stomach were not so pleased. The latter growling again, furiously.

"Kitchens are that way. Gilly'll show you." One of the boys who did not have her eyes stepped out from behind her legs and smiled at me. I grimaced back and we made our slow, wobbly way to the kitchens.


	4. Galahad

As it turned out, the 'kitchens' were like a small medieval canteen, although the yielded similarly tasteless slop to any modern eatery.

Gilly and I sat tearing pieces from a roman bread and dipping them into a bowl of broth-like meat gravy, as the little boy quizzed me, his dark eyes wide. As I answered him, cautiously, I looked around. Besides us, there were only two other people in the room. One was a woman, who was roasting some poor dead beast on a spit, the other a man with curly dark hair and a similar beard, who crunched softly on an apple, leaning into the wall. He seemed to be gazing at our odd pair, but I shrugged it off and turned back to Gilly.

"So where are you from?" Gilly pressed, the dreaded question.

"Yes, where are you from, girl for whom Vanora stole my favourite tunic." A deep, yet youthful voice laughed in my ear. I whipped around to see the strange man who had been gazing at us, smiling as he sat down a little distance from me. I saw now that he had pale grey-blue eyes and paler milky skin. Somehow, his happiness seemed overworked, as though it were merely a protective layer.

I bit my lip, unsettled.

"Her name is Pagan, Galahad!" Gilly defended, looking a little unsettled himself by the man's approach. I blinked upon hearing the name, "Galahad" I repeated, knowingly. The man glared softly at the boy, and I felt like a doll caught between two little girls grasp.

"Take her back to Ma's, Galahad." Gilly warned, leaving me there, not even removing the near finished meal. I sighed, something that did not go unnoticed.

"Why do you sigh so, girl?" Galahad asked, still grinning.

"Because, boy," I spat, laughingly, "Now I am alone with the grinning cat, and I do not know my way."

Galahad feigned offence, "Madam, I am a Knight, and a man" He pressed the word 'man' thickly, " of my word." I snorted, to keep myself from giggling, and let my hair fall across my face.

"You have no word made to be kept, Sir Galahad. I am not a foolish little girl, you know." I smirked, knowing I had caught him out in some small way. I tore a chunk from the neglected bread and dipped it in the fatty gravy, airily.

"Fine…" He sighed, " I promise to take you back to the tavern." He smiled at me. I almost said "Better." smartly, until he added "Later tonight."

"And what on earth will I be doing for the rest of the day?" I raged, my face heating up.

"Taking a bath. And visiting your mare." He stood, as though I was to follow him, but I stayed still on the little grimy bench. "You have decided this, then, Sir knight? And that I am unclean?" In all honesty, I was worried about the quality - and temperature - of the water he planned to dunk me in. And whether I would be alone in this bath.

I knew, from reading the old legends, that girls younger than me married and bore children in roman times, while no laws protected a child's innocence. But I would not be a toy for some lusty man.

"Yes, I have decided it, and do not pale so, milady, I don't plan to drown you, if that's what you think." He laughed a little at his own joke, and reached out a hand to my shoulder, while I stayed sitting, contemplating finding my own way back.

Resolved, I followed him from the small kitchen, through a courtyard and into a building of beautiful Roman architecture and pale stone.

"Where are we going?" I asked, stopping just before the great columns.

"To get you in a bath, smelly girl who wears my tunic." He beckoned me forward with one graceful hand, the other pushing on a door of Oakwood.

Tired of being called names, I just followed shakily.

We entered a red clad foyer, and turned off to the right before I could comprehend the gilded statues or the red silky hangings, all imperialist and defiantly roman. This little pocket of Roman life we had entered was a world unto itself, while all around it spoke of Britain and northern Europe. The doors were large, fanciful carved wooden affairs, while rugs lay at intervals along the floors.

I followed warily behind Galahad, and did not notice he had been talking to me until he opened another door and finished his sentence with "And anyway, Gilly is just jealous that I get to spend the day with a pretty girl like yourself, milady." And motioned for me to enter before him.

I blushed down to my toes. I was sure Galahad had noticed, but he did not mention it

"it really must be dark in here." I laughed, stepping through the doorway cautiously.

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This one is so short…argh!

Guys, I'm so sorry it took so long( a whole week!) for me to update, but it was the first week back at school after spring break and I had a ton of work to get done - Exams start in three weeks, gr.

Thank you for all the lovely reviews and alerts, favs ect.

I'm not sure about this one, but at least we got some Galahad, which is good, and there is still more to come. I'm starting the next chapter this evening, so it should be up before about midnight Saturday (GMT)_._


	5. A Bath, A Basin

Galahad left me in a dark, candlelit room, where a maid had prepared a basin of hot water large enough for me to sit to my waist in. This 'bathtub' was like a sawn off barrel, only more oblong in shape, with a large smooth, slick cloth draped around it as a sort of lining to help keep the hot water in. Or, rather, the water that I hoped would be hot.

It was not.

It wasn't, however, sludgy or dirty, although I did wonder as to whether cholera was common in this era, and resolved to bathe quickly.

I removed Vanora's now sticky apron from where I had it would around my legs, and slipped off Galahad's tunic, before I realised I wore no underwear. I shock, I scrambled to remember anyone who might have removed it, vainly.

It would most probably have been discarded by now.

Did women even wear underwear in roman times? I hoped to god Vanora would be able to at least provide me with something to wear under my jeans - if and when I got them back.

As I leaned over the basin, examining the water, I caught sight of myself on the surface, brown hair matting. I wrinkled up my nose in disgust at the dark circles that had appeared on my face, like great purple bruises under my eyes.

My already pasty British skin was even pastier, and my freckles had faded into the waxy pallor. My lips were cracked and dry, and there was a thick scab lining the edge of my bottom lip. I supposed that had happened when I fell from the bay mare.

Even my eyes were a paler green than usual, and even in the dim candlelight I saw, in my reflection, the redness in them.

Galahad must have been waiting outside, or perhaps listening through the door, because when I put my left leg into the basin and yelped at the coldness, he appeared, long knife in hand, ready to slay the beast that had frightened me.

The chivalry of knight, however unwelcome.

I screamed and struggled to find my donated clothes while he stood there, gaping, watching me.

I tripped and stumbled across the small stretch of floor, before I fell into the tunic and apron, desperately scrambling to cover myself.

"Sorry." Galahad murmured, leaving again. I noticed the way he looked ashamed, and the way he closed the door a little less than softly. As if proving to someone that he was sorry, but I already believed him. I'd seen the blush that had bloomed out across his gawping face, and the strange fear in his eyes that belonged mostly to small children.

I wondered, as I made my way back to the basin, resigned to the chilling cold, if Galahad had ever seen a naked girl before. Until now it had seemed silly to think of any of the men and women I knew were here as innocent or naïve. Now, he seemed all the more real to me.

I settled on the edge of the basin, and used my hands to scrub water over my body, rubbing away the worst of the dirt and dried sweat and the honey. I sorely doubted whether I would be clean again properly for a very long time.

"Galahad…" I called out, the candles wearing low when I felt a little cleaner.

The door creaked open a little, "Yes, Not-so-smelly girl?" He laughed, nervously. I prayed that he would not mention the previous incident around me, or to others, even.

"Um…Might I wear your tunic again? I'm afraid I don't know where my clothes are…"I frowned, lamenting the feel of the warm thermal vest and jeans I had worn to travel.

"Of course." was all he could manage to say. I supposed he was just as embarrassed as I was.

I thanked him and dressed again, turning the sticky apron the other way out and wrapping it better than it had been wrapped. Glad to be dressed and warm again, even if I was still soaking wet and still had freezing water soaking through the tunic from my hair, I went to the door and pulled gently on it.

It tumbled open and Galahad tumbled to the floor.

Evidently he had been leaning on the door.

"Silly boy." I tuted, and stepped over him.

Not sure about this one, too.

It's really short, but I promise there'll be more knights in the next few chapters. ;P

Thoughts?

Thanks guys. x


	6. Loch Lomond

i hope this makes up for the last two being so very short. it's very late at night, and I'm in need of some sleep now.  
The song "Loch Lomond" is one that's very dear to me, as is the Isle Of Mull. The little things like that make me glad to be a Scottsman(or woman, haha).  
In the next one, there shall be some more of the other knights, for those who were asking.  
-as always, thank you for all the lovely reviews, they really make my day, and encourage me to keep writing. Thanks  
~. xox  
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In the end, we didn't visit the bay mare, but instead I was carted off back to the dark room I'd been in all week, because Vanora had found us wandering around a very muddy street-like market road lined with empty and closing stalls.

It might have been only midday when she found us and began again to fuss, looking flustered, with Gilly following a foot or so behind.

"Girl!" She sighed, happiness and exasperation filling her voice.

"Her name," grunted both Gilly and Galahad - who himself had never used it before, "Is Pagan" Both boys shared a glare at the woman and then at one another, Gilly grudgingly breaking eye contact.

"Pagan? Odd name, my girl, seen as it's what the Romans call us all. Aye and I bet you're freezing like that and all, aren't you? Come on, home!" she frog marched me back the way I had just come with Galahad, muttering things all the time about "that pig of a boy" and "she's just a little girl!"

We stopped only when we reached the tavern, with Vanora giving orders to Gilly and then continuing her relentless march towards the enveloping warmth of the dark room. All our way there, I had dreaded being back in the room, and had even convinced myself I wasn't tired and wobbly and sore still.

Unfortunately, no amount of convincing could stop the stinging warmth of the fire, and I was drowsy in an instant again.

"Here, all clean again. Although why you want to wear coarse breeches and silly coverings I cannot think to know. Get dressed, and I'll give Galahad back that awful tunic." She passed me a bundle of now much more worn looking clothing, the things I had been wearing. Thankfully it included my underwear - bra and all- and jacket, minus it's contents.

I frowned, "Where are my things?" I asked.

"The Romans took 'em. You'll have to see one of them about it." With that she left me in the calm silent gloom of firelight.

I dressed again from the inside out, and folded the tunic and apron on the end of 'my' mattress. Dressed again, despite the sudden chill of my modern clothing after the warm tunic, I was all the more drowsy.

I did not want to sleep, but sleep came to me, and was blackness and warmth.

The, although I felt I'd slept at most five minutes, I was woken by a hand shaking my shoulders and a voice calling to me, the voice of a boy.

"Pagan…Wake up…Mum says you're to come outside…c'mon. Ge'hp." I opened my bleary eyes to find Gilly leaning over my bed, shaking me a little too urgently.

"I'm awake," I mumbled, groaning slightly.

He still hadn't stopped shaking me.

I sighed, "I'm awake, Gilly!" while rolling away from him. Just like my little sister, he wouldn't leave me to sleep, because for some reason, some higher power made it so in the world of children.

"Mum says you're to come out, she wants you to come out, come on pagan…" He whined. Whining, I thought, was for a little children, not growing boys who were expected to look after their mothers when their fathers were away.

"I'm coming." I groaned, swiping at his head with one hand.

I sat up slowly, Gilly still watching inquisitively, and rubbed my hands over my face, slowly. I ran my fingers through my hair, flattening it a little, and then I followed Gilly to the door, from which could be heard the rumblings of laughter.

Drunk yells and the sounds of gambling with dice and knives, as well as a distinct clunk of tankards and pottery. I assumed that this really was a tavern by night, if not by day.

When we left the warmth of the fire and stepped into the tavern effective, loud and bursting with people.

I realised then that he only time I'd been in a pub was for Sunday lunch maybe twice, and even than I had not been anywhere near the bar. Now, I stood in one large, roman pub, full of men and drink, and filth.

"Pagan! There she is!" I roar reached me above the rest, higher sounding, but still full of bass. I looked up from where I had been staring at a table to find Galahad smiling grandly at me, motioning with his mug of drink. Others around him turned to look, marvelling at me in my strange clothing, mouths agape.

Galahad, however, did not falter, and he hastily stumbled to my side. Vanora also did not falter. She was next to me in an instant, and tugging on my elbow, as Gilly marched off to his siblings again.

"Come on, you can help me with the work tonight." She ordered, briskly.

"Uh…" Was all I could managed to force out, feeling flustered.

I was swiftly handed a large flagon of what I presumed was ale or beer, and set to work refilling men's mugs.

The ground here was cold and wet in places where drink had been spilt on the ground. Straw and dust had gathered in the corners here and there and there were low stools and tables arranged around a larger open space. Many men dressed in loose tunics and breeches sat with drink in their bellies and women on their laps, forgetting their worries.

Here and there I caught glimpses of Vanora's children, flitting between tables and peeking round doors. They simply grinned at me with small sharp-toothed mouths and impish eyes and ran off again, to their burrow-hole hiding places.

Despite their mothers obvious attractiveness, many of Vanora's children seemed to possess a different kind of fairness, that I had only seen once or twice before, in the kind of travelling folk of the woman who had sent me here.

After perhaps an hour of running around after men, chasing Vanora's children, and being gawped at by the locals, I had emptied the flagon and returned it to Vanora who stood filling tankards. She dismissed me, as many of the men had gone home with their women and others had gone wandering in the darkness.

I searched the faces of the remaining men in the room, watching them drink and gamble and flirt. I saw Galahad throwing knives with men I did not recognise. I did not realise I was staring at him until he looked at me, and gave me a satisfied smile.

I blushed and turned to hurry off, not wanting anymore of a ribbing from him.

Obviously drunk, he called out to me, and dashed to catch me before I could dash off to the safety of the room I'd come from.

"Pagan! Come sit with us, have a drink!" He had a strong grip on my arm, and I couldn't find anyway to remove it, so I shrugged and moved with him to sit on the end of a bench-like seat and watch their crude game of darts.

He was sitting with two other men, one with long dirty reddish hair and a beard, and another with no hair and no beard.

Their skin glistened with oils as they moved in the candlelight to throw their knives in turn. Compared to my usual entertainment, this drunken sport wasn't occupying in the least.

Their knives had long thin blades and white wooden handles, and their aimed at the post of another chair - already cut deep with notches from other's games.

I had almost dozed off when Galahad shook my arm lightly, smiling still, and handed me a knife.

"You have a try, girl, lets see what you can do," He grinned, patting my arm.

I frowned, "What?" I asked, irritated.

All three men Watched me closely, as I aimed at the chair, and threw the knife.

It missed it's mark by a long shot and landed with a clatter on the floor, while many of the men in the tavern roared at my hilarity.

"'S not that funny." I muttered, sitting down again on the hard bench.

I sat on that bench for at least another hour, watching their silly game of knives and sipping at the drink I'd been offered - it was apparently some form of grog, although I'd never really tasted anything alcoholic before and so didn't notice much about it, except a strong bitterness.

Many of the remaining men left during that hour, and in the end, only around eight or nine of them remained, along with Vanora and one or two of the children.

I found many of them staring at me again, and felt a little dizzy as the grog started to work its magic on my nervous system.

Before long there was much talking in the now tight group of men, and much cheering.

"A Song! A Song!" They called out motioning to Vanora, who shook her head and continued to clean tables.

Galahad turned to me from where he sat on a stool nearby, and gleefully informed the group that I should sing. I blanched.

Singing was not something I'd ever done before, except once on a holiday in Scotland, and even then, I'd been a child. I shook my head vigorously, but he wouldn't hear of it, and despite my many protests, I was dragged to my feet and placed before the congregation to sing.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered songs from modern times, and knew they would not do. I would have to sing a folk song of some sort. "Scarborough Fair" and "Sweet Comerghs" came to mind, but they seemed far too obvious to sing for them, and I feared they might not believe my lies about them.

I silently cursed myself for not listening in history class.

When I finally picked out a song, one I'd learned a long time ago on my favourite holiday to the isle of Mull, I could only remember some of the verses, but as the song wouldn't be written for at least a good few hundred years to come, I decided that it wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Fine, I learnt this song in a place far north of here," And I began to sing;

"By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes,

Where the sun shines bright on loch Lomond,

Where me and my true love were ever want to gae,

On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond,

You'll tak the high road and I'll tak the low road,

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye,

Where me and my true love shall ne'er meet again,

On the bonnie bonnie banks of loch Lomond…."

I watched as the faces of them men before me changed, some thinking of home, others of their women, and yet they all watched me with intent. For a moment I realised the gravity of the song I sung, and it's real effect on people.

The men who had been throwing knives sat at opposite sides of the room now, but both looked at me the same way in that moment. I felt like the Christ, nailed to a cross for the sake of saving them, until the final word.

Galahad had been watching me all this time, and he smiled lightly with his eyes closed, as did a few others around the circle.

The candlelight grew low on our night, and many of the remaining men retired to their chambers.


	7. Ride A White Horse

This author begs humbly that you forgive her for being absent.

The reason: I kind of lost hope for this story… I had no inspiration and no time to be creative. I wrote the start of this update over a month ago…I only finished it today. Yah!. I'm terrible. Forgive me?

This is kind of all filler as well…but it's going somewhere, I promise! =)

Please hang in there, and I'll work hard from now on!

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I swear there was something in the next tankard of ale I drank, because I cannot remember what had happened from my singing onwards. Except that I woke again the next day, long after dawn.

I thanked someone else's god that I was fully clothed and in the warm room with the fire.

Apparently, Vanora's children had stayed there also last night, as I found that my throbbing head was not the only thing keeping me from moving.

Every time I tried to sit up, the room would spin slightly, and a small arm would clamp tightly around my waist.

I looked down in horror to find that the girl I remembered from the time of my illness, the one like the girl from the dead village, was curled tightly against me, her face pressed into my waist, one arm around my body like a seatbelt.

Carefully, and trying not to wake her, I pried off her arm - although I thought I was going to have to find a medieval crowbar to do so - and pulled away from her slowly.

As I slid to my feet I groaned softly. The room had begun to spin and my ankles throbbed where my boots had begun to chaff them through my socks. Last night's drunkenness had stopped me from removing them, it seemed.

I slid out of the door silently, pleading that no-one awaited me on the other side of the door.

Unfortunately, my tail awaited, in the form of Galahad. He stood leaned against a far wall, and was at my side as soon as he noticed me.

Apparently I'm more interesting than some of Vanora's clan hanging red banner-cloth around the walls.

"Will you be at the bar tonight, Pagan?" He asked, curiosity lighting his eyes.

"I am not here for your amusement, Galahad." I teased.

"Then why are you here? If you are well, return home. If you have no home, make one." He huffed, walking away.

"Galahad…." He disappeared around a corner, and I sighed, mentally slapping myself for being so rude.

I stumbled my way onto a bench and wondered if he was right.

What was I still doing here? I had wanted to come to this time, because I had always felt connected to the ancient roots of my homeland, yet I had not planned my life here. I doubted that I'd need a plan when I left.

Now I saw my idiocy for what it was.

I would need a home, money, and skills. Right now, I had none of that. Right now, I had nothing in the whole world.

Shaking myself back into reality - a place where I could learn and attain all those things - I stood up despite my protesting body and made my way out of the tavern's courtyard.

I wandered around the rest of the settlement, watching everything, looking for Galahad again. I had no idea where I would find him, and sort of hoped he would find me.

Alas, it was not Galahad who found me, but one of his friends.

I had slipped through an open door into what looked to be a stable, filled with partitions and loose bales of hay. I large white warhorse peeked his head over one partition, while a bay pony snorted at me from the other side of the stable.

I remembered the bay mare and my flight to the wall. Vanora had mentioned something about the mare once, but I couldn't recall what.

Disregarding the memory, I stepped further into the dark room.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Boomed a husky voice, tainted with an accent I didn't recognise.

"uh…Pagan…who are you?" I asked, stumbling in surprise - over both words and a stray hammer.

"I asked first, girl. What do you want?" A head and shoulders appeared from behind a short rail and post partition, which supported two gleaming leathery saddles in the roman four horned style. Then he stood up. In the shadows, I could see only that he had long, matted hair and that he was thinner than normal(around here, at least).

"I'm looking for Galahad?" Great, go right on ahead and announce your business to strangers.

I bit my cheek, nervously.

The man laughed, putting aside whatever he'd been doing to move forward, "Oh, so the pup has a fan, does he?" I must have blushed, because he laughed harder.

"m'Not a fan…"I grumbled, then added, quietly," I think I upset him."

"Your ears are red." The stranger tapped my head lightly, and I realised he was standing right next to me, in the light now, so I could see him properly. He had an angular face, with a high brow and protruding cheekbones. His hair and beard were a dark brown and straggly, with plaits in parts of his hair. I couldn't tell if his eyes were hazel or blue in the gloomy light, but I could see that he had long eyelashes and thin lips and looked rather dirty.

Like he hadn't washed in a while - which he probably hadn't.

"Who are you, anyway?" I asked, turning so I could face him head on.

"Tristan. And you're exceptionally impudent." He smirked, turned on his heel and made to leave.

"I could say the bloody same to you, you cheeky git!" I yelled, earning myself another smirk and a whack across the head - he did it lightly, like he was reprimanding a dog, or telling off a rowdy boy.

He'd stopped leaving then.

"If you're Vanora's little patient, then you should know that your bay mare is in that stall to the left. How you manage a beast like that is beyond me, but perhaps you have your tricks, like all the other impish women from beyond the wall?" His quiet voice teased me in a manner I wasn't familiar with, and I felt like I could have boxed his ears right then.

Why must they all remark upon my gender?

"Excuse me for being a woman, sir, but it's not my horse!" I huffed, stamping off towards the mare regardless.

"Well, I hope she's not stolen…but I won't tell anyone." He sighed and turned to leave again. I watched his retreating back from where I was leaning over one of the partitions, studying the toes of my boots.

"Wait!" I called out, flinging my head up, "D'you know the roman who commands the wall? He's got my stuff."

Tristan stopped again, and I heard him say something about "little pests" and "bloody women" to himself. His dark eyes surveyed me.

"What would I get out of taking you to Arthur?"

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A/N: Am I the only one here who finds Tristan hard to write in this perspective?!? AIISH! Sorry for the awkwardness…He'll be better next time. I hadn't planned this, but he wanted to visit his horse…Who am I to stop him? kehehe…Hopefully this is ok?


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